


New Horizons

by Saziikins



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Deaths, Happy Ending, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 22:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6303379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saziikins/pseuds/Saziikins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stannis is King, but Daenerys Targaryen is on her way to King's Landing. Stannis finds solace in Davos and they find a new future together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Horizons

When he dreams, and he dreams almost every night, he dreams of fire ripping through everything in sight. He can feel the flames approaching, feel the threat of them against his skin. He feels blood dripping down his head and into his eyes, and he watches the fires reach high up to the sky and tear through the darkness with their light. He wakes, and for a few heartbeats, he still hears screams and he cannot gather his senses while he shivers. 

It is a few heartbeats later when a strong arm wraps around his middle and guides him towards the heat. But this warmth is welcoming and comforting, and comes into his bed every night providing a security Stannis thinks he has never had. 

He does not fully remember the first time Davos joined him in bed. Indeed, he does not remember his first days at King’s Landing, where he lay in the King’s chambers, dreaming of blood and fire while he battled a chill. It was a terrible chill, his Maester told him later. A chill no other man had suffered, before or since. He said Stannis had no colour in his features, that his skin was translucent, that he felt brittle to the touch. Davos will not talk about those days, but Maester Tarly provided Stannis with enough information to fill the gaps in his memory.

Davos did not leave his side, Stannis knows that much. Sometimes, when he lies alone in bed and tries to remember those days, he thinks he recalls a warm hand wrapped around his. He thinks he remembers prayers uttered under a man’s breath, and he feels lips against his knuckles. He does not truly know if he remembers those things, or if, instead, he merely wishes they were true. 

He remembers the terror concealed within his dreams. He felt so cold, even while he dreamt of fire. His fitful sleep was interspersed with gulps of hot wine and other concoctions. There were moments when he was left alone with Davos, and he is sure the man still gripped his hand. 

When he first woke properly in the days following that dreadful chill, he did so on his bed with his body pressed along Davos’, Davos’ chin on his head, his arm draped over Stannis’ waist. “What-” Stannis began, his voice barely a whisper.

“You asked for this, Your Grace,” Davos replied, though he began to pull away, and with his retreat, he left only cold in his wake. 

Stannis followed him, nestling back into his warmth while Davos’ arms formed a protective embrace around him. 

The following nights, Davos did just the same, but as Stannis grew well, Ser Davos began to move his belongings into the Tower of the Hand.

“It will not do,” Stannis told him firmly, as he watched out of the window. “What if I have need for you during the night?”

“You should send for me, Your Grace.”

“It will not do,” Stannis repeated. “You will take the adjoining chambers for your own.” 

It did not merit argument. Davos’ belongings were moved to the rooms next to Stannis’, and their bedchambers were joined by a door. 

But Stannis hardly slept. There was much still to do. There was chaos and disorder throughout the realm, and he held onto the Iron Throne with the tips of his fingers. The Dragon Queen was coming, he knew, and he dreamt of her fires. 

He called for Davos one night, while he lay awake in bed, the candles still lit. Stannis sat up when he heard footsteps at the door. Davos came in at once, dressed for bed, the imprint of crumpled bedsheets on his cheek. “Your Grace?” Davos asked, his voice thick with sleep. 

Stannis frowned. “I woke you.”

Davos smiled easily at him. “I’m easily woken these days.”

“You should return to bed,” Stannis instructed, pulling the covers up over his shoulders. “One of us should be awake enough to tend to the realm.”

“Are you cold, Your Grace? Shall I ask for more logs for the fire?”

Stannis gestured to the fire. “They lit it a while ago. It is as strong as it is ever going to be.” He sighed and lay back down. “Return to bed, Ser Davos.”

“I can give you the furs from my bed? I hardly use them.”

“No. Thank you.”

Davos wavered. “Body heat, Your Grace. Maester Tarly said it was the only thing which comforted you during your illness.”

Stannis eyed him. “I would not ask…”

“That I know, Your Grace. But I am offering.”

Stannis bit down hard on his lip. “If we are found…”

“I’ll leave at dawn. Will you let me help you?”

Stannis held his breath as he regarded Davos. Afraid it truly was the only thing which would soothe him, Stannis lowered his head and then rolled onto his side, his back to Davos. The mattress dipped as Davos got in behind him and Stannis clenched his teeth. The room darkened as Davos blew out some of the candles. 

It took a little while, but Stannis had to concede that with Davos beside him, he was warmer than he had been. He closed his eyes and listened to Davos’ breathing. He fell asleep that way.

When he woke, it was still dark outside. The fire had burned down to embers, and there was a chill in the room. Stannis turned his head to look to where Davos lay. Letting out a sigh, he rolled onto his back, and froze as their feet touched beneath the covers. He held his breath. Davos did not stir. Against his better judgement, Stannis turned his head until his cheek rested against Davos’ shoulder. The next time he woke, he was alone. 

But Davos returned the next night. And the night after that. They began to talk through the day’s events in the comfort of Stannis’ bed, Davos’ body providing enough heat to stop Stannis from shivering. 

When Stannis’ dreams woke him, and they did wake him, Davos pulled him close, his chest pressed to Stannis’ back. 

They lie like that now, Stannis with his eyes open as he feels the rise and fall of Davos’ chest behind him. Stannis moves his hand beneath the covers, and it brushes over Davos’ maimed fingers. Davos breathes just as steadily, but Stannis feels as though his whole world has just shifted. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, and sees fires burning behind his eyelids. He fears each coming dawn. He fears leaving this bed. He fears going to bed without Davos beside him. He stays silent, and wills himself back to sleep. 

Did he ever truly want to be King? he wonders to himself as he sits on the throne the next day, and tends to the business of the court. Davos stands at his side as Stannis administers justice and tries to settle conflicts. It is only as the lords and ladies leave the Throne Room that Stannis realises his advice and decisions came from Davos’ lips first. 

He ponders it over dinner, when he sits with Maester Tarly to one side, and one of the many Lords he is trying to appease on the other. He looks across the room to where Davos sits with his son Steffon beside him, one of two of Davos’ surviving sons. Young Stannis remains at Cape Wrath, where he is learning to becoming a Lord, like his father. Davos’ wife is dead. The frosts killed her, when the Others spread their ice throughout the lands. 

Davos speaks of her rarely, just as Stannis does not mention his own Lady wife, nor the child he made with her. 

Davos would make a true, just and honourable King, Stannis thinks as he pauses over his dinner. It is his counsel Stannis seeks, his words he steals and makes his own. Davos looks up, and their eyes meet. Neither look away, and for a few sweet moments, it as if they are alone and the sea of people vanishes into the air. 

Stannis goes for a walk after dinner. He likes to explore the Red Keep. He always finds some room he has never seen before, and this time he stumbles on some ladies sewing Baratheon banners for the Throne Room. They rise when they see him, and he instructs them to sit. He stands for a while, watching their repetitious actions.

And then he retires to bed. He is alone for a while, watching the fire glow and listening to the changing of the King’s Guard outside his chambers. There is a soft knock, and then Davos walks through the door between their rooms. He is dressed for bed, though the night is still early. Stannis is already lying on what has become his side of the bed, and there is room enough for Davos to slip in beside him. 

They lie on their backs for a while, no words passing between them. Somehow, Stannis falls asleep. 

He wakes with a jolt, and for a moment, he is certain the room is ablaze. A few blinks later, he realises he is wrong, but his heart is racing just the same. 

“Just a dream,” Davos whispers to him through the darkness. Stannis turns to him. He finds himself being pulled into Davos’ arms, and he goes willingly, moulding his body to Davos’. He is still shaking, though not through cold. Davos’ maimed hand rests possessive on the back of his head, his other rubbing in slow circles over Stannis’ back. 

When the memories of the dream slip away, when he remembers himself, he pulls back and lifts his head. What is left of the candlelight provides enough light for him to make out Davos’ kind expression, the concern etched into his eyes, and the questions forming on his lips. Stannis uses his own mouth to keep him silent, his lips latching onto Davos’ as he seeks the humanity in Davos’ heart and soul. 

Davos kisses him as though Stannis is his own lifeline. If Davos notices the wetness on Stannis’ cheeks, he does not say anything. He holds him through the night. 

And he holds him the night after that. 

One dark evening, before the Dragon Queen comes, they flee. ‘Let her be Queen,’ Stannis thinks some moons later as he lies with his head on Davos’ stomach, the ship sailing with the two of them, and Steffon and young Stannis, en-route to lands none of them have seen before. Davos' fingers comb through his hair, and Stannis is still blissful in the afterglow of their lovemaking. 

As dawn breaks, Stannis stands by the railings and sees the first sign of land on the horizon. 

“Should we land there?” Stannis asks as Davos falls into step beside him.

“That is Myr,” Davos informs him. “We should land. We have plenty of coin to get more supplies for the rest of the journey.” Davos turns to one of the sailors. “We will land at Myr, but not for long,” he commands. 

“Yes, Ser,” the boy agrees, rushing off to inform the captain.

Stannis turns to Davos, and manages a small smile. He retreats back to their chambers, Davos following closely behind, and they return to their bed. Stannis does not dream of fire anymore. Instead, he dreams of finding worlds not yet discovered. He envisages settling somewhere they can live out the rest of their days. Somewhere no one knows their names. Somewhere no one cares what they do.

He finds solace in Davos’ arms. And he finds escape in his kiss. And on-board their boat, _Proudwing_ , he feels freedom for the first time in his life.


End file.
